


NOT Just Married

by relenafanel



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Alternate Universe, Bad Decisions, Banter, Drinking, Friends to Lovers, Hangover, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Las Vegas Wedding, M/M, Morning After, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Trolling, drinking leading to bad decisions, only not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 17:12:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4357538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relenafanel/pseuds/relenafanel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Don’t worry,” Steve says, clasping his hand on Bucky’s shoulder.  “I’ll take care of you.”</p><p>“I’ve heard that before, too,” Bucky points out in a sarcastic tone.  “Look, just… don’t let me hook up.  With anyone.  No matter what I say.  That seems like the safest bet.”</p><p>“See you on the other side,” Steve says, downing the first shot of many.</p><p>Bucky raises his own in a toast.</p><p>“You’re both being overly dramatic,” Falsworth tells them.  </p><p>(Famous last words, Steve thinks.)</p><p>-</p><p>Also known as the feel-good fluffy ficlet relenafanel promised after the end-credit scene of new Bucky feels from hell... Because I have your back and know you need recovery comedic AUs about BFFs being dumb in Vegas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	NOT Just Married

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for: talk of past drunk mistakes, including underage drinking, getting a tattoo, waking up next to strangers, and general drunk shenanigans.
> 
> Semi-non-linear. Of the drunken shenanigans variety.
> 
> This was influenced by a dare after I reblogged a post on Tumblr about [Vegas and marriage equality.](http://relenafanel.tumblr.com/post/122740939438/mormonstrous-theshrikeabyssal) The first part was also posted as a drabble on my blog.

There are a few things about Steve and Bucky that are interesting and strange to the common observer.  They’ve known each other for so long that they’ve developed a kind of symbiotic relationship, and nothing points to the mutualism between them more than Drunk Bucky and Drunk Steve.

 

More specifically, they complete each other when they’re sobering up: even at the same level of fall-down drunk, Bucky wakes to gaping holes in his memory, huge swaths of time missing from the point he takes that final drink between pleasantly drunk and drunk as shit, to the point where he comes out the other side.  Steve, on the other hand, never forgets a thing, especially with alcohol in his system.

 

Steve is also an instigating asshole, so he usually wakes up regretting a minimum of one thing out of all the things he remembers.  At least he doesn’t wake up with absolutely no idea what happened.  He realizes the blessing in that, has realized it since the first time Bucky sat across from him at breakfast, sunglasses on and a surly expression on his face.  “What the fucking shit did I do last night?” he had asked, holding out his arm to show an amateurish tattoo of a star, lines frighteningly uneven.

 

“I don’t know,” Steve had answered, eyes wide as he peered closer at Bucky’s arm.  The closer he got the more obvious it was that not all the redness was from ink.  “Oh my God,” Steve continued.  “I said ‘we should get tattoos’ and then I lost you for three hours.”

 

“Would you even have stopped me?” Bucky questioned, beginning to get hysterical.

 

“I would have made sure we went somewhere safe,” Steve answered, completely horrified.  “Somewhere that probably wouldn’t have let a drunk teenager get a tattoo.  Where did you go?  Was it sanitary?”

 

“ _I don’t remember, Steve_!  I need to go to the hospital.  I probably need tests done; you can catch shit from the kinds of places that would give someone a tattoo like this.  Oh my god, am I going to lose my arm?  Steve!”

 

The point is that Steve might instigate, but Bucky makes bad life choices in order to follow through.

 

And then Steve has to admit every detail to Bucky because he’s not a complete asshole, and he knows how much it bothers Bucky not to know what he’s done.

 

So, really, it’s no wonder that neither of them are particularly excited about their trip to Vegas for Morita’s wedding.

 

Vegas? Not such a good idea.

 

x.x.x.x

 

“You can’t let me out of your sight,” Bucky says to Steve in a low tone, looking out of the corner of his eye to make sure that none of their friends are around.  The problem with the clichéd bachelor party in Vegas is that there are witnesses to your every move who not only know you, but have the capacity to mock you for the rest of your life for making bad decisions, and Bucky does not need to be in Vegas to make bad decisions.  “We’re in Vegas, I’ve been single for long enough to feel lonely, and I can legally marry anyone in this casino.”

 

“I don’t know how legal it could be,” Steve muses as he takes a gulp of his beer.  He knows that any moment now Morita is going to insist on shots and then everything will get a little crazy.  He’s been waiting for it to happen for the last hour.  “I think they probably check for sobriety.”

 

Bucky looks at Steve with a gaze that could wither a lesser man’s balls.  “Check for sobriety?” he echoes.  “I’ve heard that before.  More than once.  You know how that goes: there’s always someone willing to do their part by asking ‘are you sober’ and willingly look the other way when drunk me says ‘yes.’”

 

That is a startling true fact.  If there’s even one place on the strip with questionable ethics, Bucky will find it if he wants something badly enough, and Drunk Bucky always thinks things are dire, epic needs that have to be met immediately.

 

“SHOTS!” Dugan yells from their table, staring in Morita’s direction.  “The groom wants shots. Shots! Shots!”

 

Bucky groans from beside him, already regretting what’s to come.  Steve knows the feeling.  The whole group of them are beyond the age where the type of drinking done in Vegas is easy to recover from.  None of them are in college anymore, though some of them seem dedicated to reclaiming those glory days.

 

“Don’t worry,” Steve says, clasping his hand on Bucky’s shoulder.  “I’ll take care of you.”

 

“I’ve heard that before, too,” Bucky points out in a sarcastic tone.  “Look, just… don’t let me hook up.  With anyone.  No matter what I say.  That seems like the safest bet.”

 

“See you on the other side,” Steve says, downing the first shot of many.

 

Bucky raises his own in a toast.

 

“You’re both being overly dramatic,” Falsworth tells them. 

 

(Famous last words, Steve thinks.)

 

x.x.x.

 

They tumble into bed around four in the morning, Bucky chattering on about the girl he met in the bar, the two thousand he won playing poker, and the way Morita looks happy (doesn’t he look happy, Steve?).  Bucky gets effusive when he gets drunk.  Steve loves him for it, because Steve gets goopy when he gets drunk and liberally proclaims his love for Bucky (and other things).

 

(But mostly Bucky.)

 

Steve gains consciousness to Bucky waking up in his arms with no idea where he is. Steve knows this with the kind of surety that comes from experiencing this exact moment at least twice a year for the last decade.  When Bucky knows he’s with Steve, he doesn’t go completely tense, attempting to hold still so his bedmate doesn’t detect his movements as he eases away.  Instead, Bucky will take up space, Steve’s space specifically, when he knows who he’s with.  Steve opens his eyes, prepared to reassure Bucky, but the sun feels like it’s stabbing him through the eyes and he’s distracted by the realization that his brain feels like it’s trying to escape his skull.

 

Why did anyone think a wild bachelor party was a good idea?

 

Bucky begins the process of easing away from Steve. He moves to rub his hands over his face and freezes completely, his stiff and uncomfortable posture becoming something entirely different.  He doesn’t just roll out of the bed, he dives out of it, scrambling to his feet and breathing heavily.

 

Steve, under normal circumstances, would do more than stare in confusion at his hyperventilating best friend, but he feels like he still might be slightly drunk. For the first time in his life, puking during a hangover is very close to being a reality and Bucky’s rapid movements aren’t helping.  He groans to punctuate his displeasure and Bucky turns to stare at him.

 

“Steve,” he breathes in surprise, tone incredulous.  He stares at Steve through a series of facial expressions Steve can barely keep his eyes open long enough to watch, let alone parse out.  Bucky is standing slightly in front of the window, and the curtains are opened just enough that actual sunlight is streaming in and hitting Steve’s eyes.

 

Fuck.  Everything.

 

“Close the window,” Steve grunts in response, throwing an arm up over his face.  “For fucksakes.”

 

Bucky just stares at him and then runs his hand through his hair, mouth open.  “Ok,” he finally says, but doesn’t move to close the curtains, because Bucky is a total asshole.  He just keeps staring at Steve and now Steve is squinting back at him, expecting Bucky move.  “Ok,” he repeats.  “Ok, this is… Ok.  This is ok.  This is good, even.  If it was going to be anyone, I’m actually… oh my god,” he says, laughing, bracing his hands on his knees like he’ll topple over if he doesn’t.  Steve considers throwing a pillow at him to make him stop laughing, but he might need it to smother himself in a few seconds.  “Oh my god, why didn’t I see this before?  I’m not only glad that it’s you, but it makes things easier that it happened.  Drunk Bucky actually got something right.”

 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Steve demands as he tries to use his spread fingers to block out some sunlight while he squints at Bucky. Bucky is wearing all his clothes, so Steve has no idea what he thinks happened between them. “And close the fucking curtain.”

 

Bucky actually does what he asks this time, and turns towards Steve, looking smug as he crosses the room and kneels on the bed, bracing himself over Steve.  Steve’s addled brain takes this as Bucky bodily blocking out the light from where the edges of the curtain don’t completely overlap, and he’s momentarily stupidly grateful for his best friend.

 

Then Bucky leans in and kisses him.

 

“What?” Steve questions, lurching backwards across the bed.  His head spins and his stomach heaves.  He gags a little, something that has very little to do with Bucky’s mouth and everything to do with his own sudden movement.  Bucky’s facial expression doesn’t seem to understand that.  “No,” Steve says, hissing in a breath through his teeth as he grabs the front of Bucky’s shirt to keep him from moving away as he does some heavy, rhythmic breathing to stop his gag reflex. Bucky’s fingers reach up to close around his, but he doesn’t try to remove Steve’s grasp on his shirt. “It’s not you.  I have never been this hungover in my entire life.  Normally, I wouldn’t mind kissing you.”  He says the last sentence in an almost shy tone because it’s not something they’ve ever talked about before, and Steve isn’t in a state of mind to actually figure out why they’re dealing with it now.

 

“I’ll grab you the ice bucket to puke in,” Bucky promises, sounding amused and untangling Steve’s fingers from his shirt.  “Consider it part of my husbandly duties.”

 

“Ok,” Steve answers, and tries not to think of the fact he used that bucket for ice the day before, especially if it’s the first thing hungover Vegas people think to grab.  Gross. 

 

Wait.

 

Husbandly?

 

**_What?_ **

 

“What?” he says.  “Husband?”  Steve has literally never woken up with blank spots in his memories, so certainly he’d remember _that_.  Oh god, has it finally happened that he got so drunk that Bucky remembers more than he does?  Has he been complacent with his lame superpower to never forget drunk shenanigans?  Steve searches back, unable to find blank spots in the timeline from the night before, from the moment he and Bucky had the conversation at the bar to the point where they both tumbled into the hotel room together.

 

At no point was there a wedding.

 

Was there a wedding?

 

“Yeah,” Bucky says softly, tangling their fingers together.  “See,” he says, showing Steve their hands.

 

Steve stares down at their fingers, at the cheap party-favour rings Morita insisted they all wear to a themed strip club, and doesn’t put two and two together for far longer than he cares to admit. When he figures it out, his jaw drops.

 

“This can be such a good thing, Steve,” Bucky promises in a reassuring tone.

 

 _“You think we’re married?”_ he finally questions incredulously.

 

Bucky’s face does that thing where it shudders through multiple expressions before he manages to square his jaw and feign that he’s unaffected.  “We’re not?” he asks, watching as Steve shakes his head.

 

“No,” Steve responds emphatically, maybe with a bit too much feeling.  “They’re novelty party favors.”

 

Bucky lets go of Steve’s hand and yanks the cheap plastic ring off his finger, his mouth in a compressed line.  He clutches it in his hand until the plastic breaks with a muted cracking sound, and Steve winces at the sound of it.

 

Steve could really, really use that puke bucket, and it’s not because of the hangover anymore.  Disappointing Bucky always feels like someone is ripping his heart out of his chest. He always would and always will do anything to reverse that feeling. “We could,” he proposes slowly, and then he realizes he is really, literally proposing.  “The others won’t be awake for hours.  We could just go get married.  What’s Vegas for if not bad decisions?”  Steve winces when he runs the question through his head and realizes how it sounds.  He doesn’t correct himself, though, because he’s not convinced that it isn’t a monumentally bad idea.

 

Bucky just grins at him.  “You’re sucha charmer,” he murmurs, biting his lip and thinking about it.  “It really would be inadvisably stupid for us to do this.  Can we even fuck without it being weird?”  Then he grins, that slow, roguish smile he uses right before getting Steve into trouble.

 

x.x.x.

 

It turns out that they can.

 

(Just not in Vegas while Steve is experiencing the worst hangover of his life.)

 

Steve manages the flight home on a combination of seltzer water, Tums, Gravol, and an ice pack Bucky had somehow procured in the airport.  He also offers Steve a cheesy sleep mask that reads ‘bride to be’ that Steve suspects he swiped from someone’s carry-on.  Steve spends the flight with his cheek mashed against Bucky’s shoulder, grumbling about nothing in particular, and then bitching about the way Bucky insincerely responds ‘I know -- bad, bad alcohol. Hush now,’ through his laughter. 

 

He feels vaguely guilty because Morita's wedding pictures probably look like a bunch of tired, hung over, but ultimately happy people until they get to Steve.  He tries to express this regret to Bucky, but Bucky just pats his shoulder and shows Steve a picture of Bucky grinning happily and Steve in the process of falling backwards on the stairs.  “New profile picture for _everything_ ,” Bucky tells him.  “I look great in the lights from the Vegas Strip.”

 

Steve looks like he should be in the morgue.  He would blame the neon lights, but.

 

Well.

 

He knows the truth.

 

An hour before Morita’s wedding Bucky had taken a good look at Steve in his suit, grimaced, and said, "Oh god, you look worse than you did two hours ago.  You look like an extra from a zombie movie.  Here, drink this," and handed him a shot of vodka.  "Do you want me to grab you one of those huge slushie drinks that are like 40% alcohol?  They have one in a shape of a dick that I think you should put in your mouth so I can put it on Instagram."

 

So Steve rallied.  In Morita's wedding pictures he looks like a _drunk_ extra from The Walking Dead because he _is_.  Bucky snickers every time he does something new to help Steve through his hangover, which is verging on being caused by a series of terrible life choices he will remember until the end of days.

 

They say Bucky’s the one known for making terrible life choices.

 

That’s a lie, or missing half of the equation. Bucky rarely makes terrible life choices without Steve.  Bucky has been known to drink alone, watch a movie on Netflix, and then sleep for twelve hours.  It’s Steve who says ‘hey, you know what would be fun...’

 

Such as: “Hey, you know what would be fun? I bet I can drink more dick slushies than Peggy.”

 

(mostly-sober) Bucky responded: “Pal, that’s a great idea.  I bet you have way more practice than she does anyway.”

 

x.x.x.

 

They’ve been back from Vegas for 36 hours, and Steve has to go to work in 30 minutes. Bucky takes the tablet from Steve’s hands and places it on the table next to Steve’s coffee.  Steve watches him do it, looking up at Bucky with a certain level of anticipation and expectation.  It’s been over 40 hours since he proposed _something_ to Bucky.  The timing could be better, but…

 

Well, Bucky only has so much patience.

 

Bucky probably also thinks the idea of starting something neither of them have time to finish is hilarious, and his facial expression is 70% genuine and 30% smug instigating asshole.  He settles on Steve’s lap with his knees braced on either side of Steve’s hips and his hands light on Steve’s shoulders.  Bucky isn't resting much of his weight on Steve, but it's what's in his gaze that's heavy and makes Steve feel like he can't breathe.  Steve has been witness to a full-scale Bucky seduction, but he’s never been on the receiving end of it.  He suddenly feels sorry for every time he’s laughed at the expression of startled-Bambi-terror-eagerness on the other person’s face.

 

“You seem to be doing ok with the toast,” Bucky observes, his thumb brushing back and forth across Steve’s clavicle. 

 

“Yeah,” Steve answers, and has no idea where to place his hands.  He looks Bucky up and down, weighing his options.  The shoulders would be safe, but incredibly weird, and he ends up tentatively placing his palms against Bucky’s hipbones, fingers getting more of a handful of his ass than he intended.  Bucky’s smile is encouraging, if amused.

 

"Good," Bucky answers, leaning into Steve's space.  He brushes his nose against the ridge of Steve's, his mouth so close to Steve's lips that he can feel the phantom sensation of Bucky kissing him in the puffs of air both of them are breathing.  Steve flexes his hands, tugging on Bucky's hips so he's drawn closer.

 

Bucky braces himself against Steve's shoulder.  "Oh," he breathes, eyelashes fluttering, before he turns his head the negligible distance between them.  His mouth brushes against the corner of Steve's, and Steve turns his face to Bucky's so they're kissing.  It feels like every movement is in slow motion, and he's drawn to Bucky's brightness like he's seeking the sun.

 

Kissing Bucky still feels like time is slowing down, as though they're frozen in place and it's just the two of them in existence.  Steve finds himself considering how to kiss Bucky in a way that will make him react, that will drive the kiss deeper.  Steve also finds himself forgetting to consider following a plan and just doing.  Catching his teeth against Bucky's bottom lip makes Bucky exhale and move closer.  Opening his mouth when Bucky's tongue sweeps across Steve's top lip causes Bucky to keen into the kiss, smiling slightly.  Steve relaxes into him, his shoulders dropping as his body presses towards Bucky, arching into him in a way that's a subtle need for contact.

 

Bucky moves back, breathing heavily and resting more of his weight against Steve's knees. He looks beautiful and flushed, and Steve feels a sense of pride that he was the one who caused that.  "You're..." Bucky pauses, presses a kiss against Steve's parted lips.  "Work."

 

Steve blinks at him.  It takes a moment to parse out what Bucky is saying, partially because the sentence was disjointed, but mostly because Steve can’t focus.  Now that they aren’t actively kissing, every response he’s having to Bucky is obvious to him.  He’s aroused, but he’s also hopelessly feeling… swoopy.

 

As in, every bit of fondness and love he’s ever felt for Bucky, years of dedication and friendship, of claiming they’d be together forever in an unapologetic way, is all surfacing at once.  It feels tenfold. Bucky’s eyes are crinkling at the corner as he observes Steve back, and it’s the same smile he always gives Steve, no different from the smile he’d given Steve the day before when Steve had spent the day as a sad lump on the couch, or the week before when Steve made Bucky’s favourite cookies because he had a terrible day at work.

 

Fuck.  It’s really turning him on to see it now, because up to this point Steve hasn’t really been sure this can work, but now he can see what Bucky saw the moment after his married-in-Vegas scare.  It’s in front of him -- a constant touchstone that somehow also feels shockingly new for all that it’s been there for years.  Bucky.  Steve can’t go to work when all he wants to do is take Bucky to bed and never let him leave.

 

"No," Steve counters, his hand on Bucky's back guiding him closer so Steve can nip at his lips.  "No work.  I'll call sick," he murmurs, tasting at the skin at Bucky's neck.  Steve can detect traces of aftershave on his tongue, the rasp of hair from the careful edges Bucky creates to get his unshaven look neat around the edges, a carefully maintained sense of bedraggled style that suits Bucky so well.  He can sense Bucky's pulse beneath his skin, it echoing the pounding of Steve's own heart as he traces the tip of his nose across Bucky's jaw.

 

"Fuck, Steve," Bucky breathes, and it's not a sound overwhelmed by pleasure, but it is the deliberate tone of Bucky surprised and pleased by the turn of events.  "I should let you."

 

Steve wonders if Bucky didn’t think one kiss would get Steve to the point of throwing away all of his responsibilities for the day.  He wonders if this was a test, but knows it wasn’t meant to be. 

 

"You should," Steve agrees.  He has a lapful of Bucky, his fingers against the warm skin of Bucky's back.  Someone had once told Steve that holding Bucky was like the impossibility of trying to grasp lightning, or a shocking live wire that you'd eventually have to let go or you'd get burned.  Bucky feels solid in Steve's arms, for all that there's a thrill to have him there.  He feels permanent. 

 

He’s Bucky, and Steve is Steve.

 

It’s as permanent as it’s ever going to be for either of them.

 

"Your project is coming due and your team is already pissed you took time off," Bucky points out, incredibly rational as he pulls away even more, getting off Steve's lap in a graceful movement of long legs and fluid muscles. It's not that Steve hasn't noticed these things about Bucky in the years since the two of them hit puberty, it's that he always looked away so he wouldn't feel guilty about noticing how inherently sexy Bucky could be.

 

He's looking now.  It's impossible not to see when he's acutely aware how sensitive his mouth is, a stinging swollen sensation he can't ignore. He makes an aborted movement to drag Bucky back to him, stopping only when he considers that maybe there are other reasons Bucky is putting space between them.

 

Steve doesn't want to hear rational.  He gives Bucky an unhappy look that has Bucky grinning at him as he takes a sip from Steve's cooling coffee.  His hips are tilted towards Steve flirtatiously and Steve allows himself to look.  It’s not a shock that Bucky is partially hard, the shape of his dick standing out against his soft pajama bottoms, but the way Steve’s body reacts with a wave of need is incredible. 

 

Bucky notices him looking.  “Hey now,” he murmurs, flirtatious but with warning.  “None of that.  All you’ve been talking about for the last month is how worried you were about what impact going away would have on the team.”

 

While that is absolutely true, it’s an old truth from before he’d tasted the man standing in front of him.  Bucky is now controlling his body language to look less like a temptation, and it’s laughable how ineffectual that is.  His hair still looks like Steve’s hands have been in it.  His skin is still flushed, and his mouth is reddened and slick from recently being kissed.

 

Steve wants. He wants so much.  He opens his mouth and the words emerge sounding low and fluid with anticipation. "I want to stay home and try sex with my husband."

 

Bucky inhales sharply, and his eyes go molten as his tongue slides along his bottom lip, eyes dragging over Steve in a way that feels like a dirty promise.  For a second it looks like he's not going to be the voice of reason, like he's going to take Steve up on the offer and drag him into the bedroom, or maybe not even bother with the idea of a bed. 

 

Steve is going to let him.  He’s going to encourage it.

 

They observe each other for a moment.  It's not that Steve is the responsible one, or the irresponsible one, it's that they usually make their rash decisions together.  At this point, Steve needs reinforcement either way, because if left to his own devices, he'd spend the day taking Bucky apart.  He thinks of Bucky asking 'can we fuck without it being weird?' and wants to laugh.

 

If only they’d known.

 

"When you get home," Bucky answers in a rough tone, closing his eyes with regret.  He places the coffee down and backs away, putting the kitchen island between the two of them.  The way he leans against the counter isn't helping Steve's resolve, and he feels an overwhelming need to have Bucky up against it.  He can't breathe with it.

 

Weird?  Christ.

 

.x.x.x.

 

Bucky physically jumps on Steve the moment he's through the door, his keys still clenched in his hand as he reacts. His arms immediately grab Bucky to help support him as Steve stumbles back a step, knocking into the open door hard enough to slam it shut.  "Hi," Bucky says, bright and happy.  “You’re home.”

 

"Hey," Steve responds, and he understands Bucky's smile because it's on his face too, and he feels overwhelmed by how happy he is.

 

"Sex me," Bucky demands dramatically, laughing through the words.  He wriggles a bit in Steve's grasp, and looks pleased when Steve just tightens the hold he has on Bucky's ass.  It's not sexy, not deliberately, but there's a joy in it that makes it so much better.  Bucky locks his ankles behind Steve's back to help distribute his weight, and his lopsided grin tightens into a smirk.  "How long do you think you can hold me up?" he asks in a smooth tone, biting his lip as he adjusts his hold on Steve again, tightening his thigh muscles and easing his body up in a way that makes Steve realize he'll have no trouble riding him.

 

Fuck, Bucky.

 

It feels like everything goes hot.

 

“I’ve been thinking about it all day,” Bucky continues like this is a secret, like Steve hasn’t been distracted by thoughts of it all day.  Bucky continues to hold himself up like it’s easy, years of the two of them being competitive at the gym seem to have a clear purpose, and that purpose is sweaty, athletic sex.  They’re face to face, and Bucky's focus is on Steve's mouth in a way that feels like a precursor to a kiss.  “Of jumping you the moment you’re through the door.  About whether you could hold me up and fuck me at the same time.”

 

Jesus Fucking Christ, Bucky.

 

Steve smirks back at him.  "How long will it take for you to get off?" he questions, pitching his voice low in the way that sounds like sex, and he doesn't bother thinking about the fact he never thought he'd be playing dirty with Bucky.  He turns, pressing Bucky's back up against the door, and the feeling of Bucky pressed tightly against him is such a turn on that he groans with it.  He’s hard, has been aroused all day.

 

"Oh fuck, yes," Bucky responds to the way Steve presses them together, elbows braced on Steve's shoulders as his fingers pull Steve's head back just enough so Bucky can get his mouth on him.  They make out against the door for what feels like seconds and hours all at once, Bucky moving against Steve until one of his legs slides down to the floor, the other still tight around Steve’s hip.

 

It’s like Bucky has broken his unspoken dare and Steve can move again, can think beyond grinding up against Bucky while supporting his weight.  The possibilities are infinite.

 

Steve unhooks Bucky’s leg and slides to his knees. 

 

“Oh my god,” Bucky says, surprised. He’s staring down at Steve like he has no concept of how he got there.  “Oh my god,” he repeats, looking at Steve like he’s a gift he didn’t expect to get. “Your mouth.”

 

Steve can’t help smiling.  Bucky’s thumb presses at the corner of it, fingers gentle against Steve’s cheek.  Steve looks up and Bucky is grinning back at him for no other reason than Steve smiled first.  There’s a moment, immeasurable and extraordinary, where everything rapidly solidifies into reality.

 

“I don’t even have my mouth on you yet,” Steve points out, pulling Bucky’s track pants down over his thighs.  It has the potential to be a weird moment, staring up at his best friend with his dick right in front of Steve’s face, but he doesn’t even take pause to consider it in those terms, wanting to prove to Bucky that he deserves to hear those ‘oh my god’s because of what he can _do_ with his mouth and not just because it’s there.

 

“Well, then put your mouth on me,” Bucky snipes back.  Steve looks at him, raising an eyebrow, because Bucky should know by now how well Steve reacts to demands for something he was going to do anyway.  He holds the expression for long enough that he can see that Bucky realizes what he’s said before Steve moves forward, closing his mouth over the tip of Bucky’s erection.  It’s like a dirty kiss, mostly tongue and very little finesse.  “Jesus Christ,” Bucky answers, his head hitting backwards against the door as Steve continues moving.  “Oh my god.”

 

It’s not long before Bucky is dragging Steve to his feet, shoving him further into the apartment and through Steve’s bedroom door.  It gets the honor of being Bucky’s choice by being five feet closer to them than Bucky’s bedroom is.  “Why the hell,” Bucky is muttering, dragging Steve’s sweater and button up shirt over his head.  They get caught around his ears and Steve flails a bit as Bucky curses him for buttoning all the buttons up to the neck.  “Take off your clothes!”

 

“It would be easier if you didn’t trap me in them,” Steve answers, slapping at Bucky’s hands as he tries to yank.  “I swear to god, if you ruin this shirt I’m going to stretch out the shoulders of your favorite sweater by wearing it instead.”

 

“You think that’s a threat,” Bucky responds, but he does let go of Steve’s shirt.  “But the idea of you wearing my clothes is turning me on.”

 

“Yeah?” Steve asks in a hopeful tone, looking up at Bucky the moment he pulls his shirts over his head.

 

“Yeah, Stevie.”  Bucky is smiling softly.  The effect is ruined slightly by the way he’s lounging back against the bed, completely naked.  “Come here,” he says.  “And lose the pants.”

 

.x.x.x.

 

When Steve had been standing next to Bucky in order to get their marriage license, he’d been filled with worry and doubt.  It was impossible to tell where his nausea from the hangover ended and nausea over the decision he was making began.  Bucky was vibrating with it, his hand tight around Steve’s in a way that probably looked like devotion to the outside world.  If Bucky was experiencing the same kind of fear Steve was, he never said a word.

 

Their lives were full of moments like this.  It was more than a game of chicken between best friends, but there were definitely elements of that included. 

 

Then Bucky looked over at him, his grin shaky as he quirked his eyebrows. ‘Look at us’, he seemed to say.  ‘Sober and jumping into this head first.’

 

That was the defining trait of being _Bucky and Steve_. 

 

Bucky’s expression was also a challenge for Steve to back out, and so he squeezed Bucky’s hand tighter and took a step forward to the service desk.

 

The thing of it was, Steve had loved Bucky his whole fucking life.  He couldn’t remember a time before Bucky, and he knew with certainty that there wouldn’t be a time after, no matter the shape of their relationship. Steve would love Bucky even if they hadn’t spoken for fifty years, and that would never change.

 

Taking that step was surprisingly easy.

 

x.x.x.

 

“You know who’s going to react best?” Bucky had asked once they settled from their flight, sitting on the armchair beside the couch with his legs draped over the side farthest from Steve’s face.  Bucky arched over the arm of the chair so he was staring at Steve upside down.  Steve wasn’t nauseated anymore, but his entire body was feeling the aftereffects of all the alcohol he consumed. 

 

“I think your sister is going to be pretty pissed she wasn’t there.” Steve unreasonably considered whether or not Bucky had married him so he could laugh at everyone’s shock.  Platonic life partners, that was them.  Everyone said so.  He almost opened his mouth to accuse Bucky, but he couldn’t.  He was just cranky and hungover, and on this side of the country their decision was wearing heavily at his conscience.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed.  “But that won’t be hilarious.”

 

.x.x.x.

 

Steve sits next to Bucky on the bench across from Sam and does his best to hide his amusement at what’s to come.  It feels like each breath he takes is consumed with the feeling of Bucky sitting next to him, and Steve is acutely aware of the discrepancy of how much he feels like he’s changed versus how little the developments show on the outside.  It’s not rare for Bucky to sit next to Steve, neither of them ever having an actual regard for each other’s personal spaces.

 

Sex doesn’t change that except through adding an awareness.  He’s aware of the warmth from Bucky’s thigh, and how good Bucky looks in the jeans and shirt he’s wearing. He knows where Bucky’s skin shows marks from Steve’s mouth and fingers.  Bucky isn’t a secret he wants to keep from the world, and not blurting everything out to Sam immediately is difficult.

 

"How was Vegas?" Sam asks, taking a sip of his pint.  The question is innocent and normal.  He doesn’t yet suspect the answer will be anything but.

 

 _We’re married,_ Steve wants to blurt out.  Bucky pinches his thigh in warning, so Steve picks up his water and focuses on the pint glass in Sam’s hand with regret. He can’t even face the idea of alcohol right now, which is a shame because Steve is the only one who will freely admit to enjoying the variety of local craft brew offered by their preferred bar -- maybe because Steve is an unironic, self-declared hipster, which Bucky claims is inherently contradictory and creates a paradoxical situation wherein Steve is both a hipster and not a hipster by its very definition.

 

Bucky is an asshole.  And an ale snob.

 

(And Steve’s husband _holy shit_ )

 

Steve thinks he's the only one who will freely admit to enjoying this establishment's particular selection because Steve doesn't shy away from expressing displeasure, and as a result he also reveals the things he enjoys as well.

 

(Bucky is also so, so fucking good at sex it's making Steve stupid just thinking about it.  He can't keep his hands off the strip of skin revealed between Bucky's shirt and his jeans, enjoying the way Bucky leans into him.)

 

Bucky shrugs in response to Sam's question, which turns Sam's focus on him.  "Hot," Bucky sums up in a wry tone.  "Dry.  Except for when Steve got so drunk he puked.  Twice."

 

Steve, sips at his water and pouts because Bucky is making light of it, but the very idea of consuming anything with alcohol content is making his stomach lurch, even four days later. He does his best not to meet Bucky's eyes.  The puking had happened in the hotel after Bucky peeled off Steve's shirt and was sucking a mark on his hipbone.  Steve knew that Bucky would be bringing up that moment on Steve's deathbed.

 

("I want it anyway," Bucky had said in a low, comforting tone, dragging a cool, damp cloth over the back of Steve's neck as Steve valiantly attempted not to rest his forehead on the porcelain of a hotel toilet.  He more or less failed, but it was a heroic effort.

 

"Not right now," Steve bitched.  "Seriously? How can you even be thinking about sex."

 

"Not the sex," Bucky dismissed.  "It doesn't feel like a terrible decision, the more I think about it.  It feels like an opportunity that's too easy to pass by but would be a mistake not to try."

 

So Steve had propped his head up and put on a suit.  They each had only a few pictures on their phones, strange candids where both of them looked exhausted and tremulous at the weight of their decision, eyes wide as they smiled because that's what you're supposed to do in your wedding pictures.)

 

Sam looks across the table at them, his eyes narrowed in suspicion as Bucky casually takes a drink of his pint as though all that happened in Vegas was Steve throwing up.  Steve averts his gaze.  "Is that all?" Sam’s expression is, of course, tinged with suspicion, because he thinks he already knows the answer to that question. "Neither of you woke up hitched to a stranger?"

 

Sam knows them a little too well, because he looks at Steve when he asks this, knowing that Steve is the only one who will remember what happened during the drunk Vegas shenanigans.

 

"Nope, not hitched to a stranger," Bucky answers with a grin, folding his hands on the table in front of him and leaning forward like he has a good story to tell. There isn’t a wedding ring to reveal, but Steve thinks that’s how Bucky draws Sam into complacency. Steve can see Bucky stringing Sam along with his skill for storytelling that he uses for evil.  He can consistently hit the high points of the story the moment someone takes a drink.  It took Steve years to catch on that it wasn't a coincidence, it had never been a coincidence. _Evil_. "I just woke up next to Steve, like expected. Fully clothed," Bucky continues slowly as Sam relaxes with the expectation that Bucky is finished and lifts his drink.  "Wearing a wedding ring."

 

Sam chokes.  Bucky allows it to happen, just looking like a smug asshole while Sam coughs and gestures between the two of them.  “What?” he croaks.  “ _What?_ ”

 

"But it turns out it was a party favor," Bucky continues as Sam tries to breathe through the IPA now burning his sinuses.

 

Steve pushes his water over to Sam and Sam takes it gratefully. 

 

Sam breathes heavily, glaring at both of them like they betrayed him with this little pranks.  "So no drunken mistakes, then?" Sam questions, and because he knows them, it sounds skeptical, as though he can see the story isn't finished.  Bucky says it’s because Steve always gets this ernest, excitable look on his face when Bucky’s spinning a tale and all anyone needs to be able to do is recognise that fact. 

 

Steve always responds that it’s because Bucky’s life is a soap opera and they know the story can’t be that simple.

 

"You need to understand," Steve answers in the most innocent tone he can muster up.  It's pretty damn convincing. He plucks the photocopy of their wedding certificate he’d brought to work out of his pocket and flicks it across the table.  Before Sam can unfold it, Steve grasps Bucky's hand in his, their fingers easily sliding into a tight grasp.  "It might be impulsive, but neither of us were drunk."

 

“Ha.” Sam sounds sarcastic as he unfolds the paper. He pauses for a beat, completely unmoving with his eyes widened to hilarious levels of shock.  Then he blinks, coming out of his surprise with a jerk that knocks Steve’s water over on the table.  The paper immediately gets soaked and the water spreads across to drip over Steve’s lap.  “Shit,” Sam says, trying to save the paper.

 

Bucky is laughing too hard to help Steve grab napkins to soak up some of the water.  Their regular waitress hurries over to help.  “These two assholes just told me they got married in Vegas,” Sam tells her, waving the soaked copy of their legal union in the air.  “But I call bullshit."

 

“Congratulations,” she tells them.

 

“Thanks,” Bucky answers cheerfully. He has his arm on the dry part of the table, resting his cheek on his bicep as he grins.  There are tears in his eyes.

 

“Oh, don’t bother congratulating them.  It’s a joke.”

 

“Is it?” Bucky asks, amused as he sits up.  There’s a gleam in his eyes like he has a fantastic idea that he’s seconds from implementing.  He then turns to Steve, using his free hand to tilt Steve’s face towards him.  Steve is kissing Bucky before Bucky even moves into it, crossing the few inches between them on the bench seats.  He has no idea if that was Bucky’s plan, and he doesn’t care.  Bucky makes a soft, charmed sound and Steve’s smiling into the kiss. 

 

He thinks he and Bucky will keep smiling into their kisses for the rest of their lives, that’s how happy he is.

 

Steve nips at Bucky’s top lip and pulls back.  Both of them are still close to each other, breathing in each other’s space.

 

“Doesn’t prove anything,” Sam points out in an obstinate tone.  “I can kiss Bucky too.”

 

He probably would, just to show them.

 

“That sounds like a dare, Stevie,” Bucky says in the same voice he always uses when he’s actually the one daring Steve.  The voice that gets them into trouble more often than not.  “What do you think?”

 

Steve never could turn down a dare and Bucky knows it, getting to his knees on the bench.

 

“Guys, don’t!” Sam interrupts, hissing at them like he will physically go across the table to separate them if they kiss again.  Bucky ignores him, moving in to kiss Steve in a way that should probably get them kicked out of the bar they’re sitting in. “So it proves you’re having sex,” Sam mutters a moment later, not looking directly at them.  After the show Bucky just put on with his tongue, Steve doesn’t blame him.

 

“Yep, like right now at this moment,” Bucky answers cheerfully, digging a twenty out of his wallet as Steve scrambles out of the booth with all the subtlety of a battering ram.  “Married sex.  Later Sam.”

 

“Sorry, Sam!” Steve calls out behind him, laughing as Bucky gets his fingers around the edge of the overshirt he’s wearing and uses it to drag Steve through the door.

 

x.x.x.

 

Technically, the first person Steve tells is someone in the HR department at work, and it’s why he has a photocopy of their certificate to begin with.  Steve adults well.  Steve is responsible even on his first day back from the weekend.

 

What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, except for when you have to file paperwork.

 

He receives an insincere congratulations and a handful of forms to fill out claiming Bucky for spousal benefits.  It's anticlimactic, but Steve gets great benefits and Bucky does not.  Really, they should have considered marriage an option ages ago.

 

Steve thinks of Bucky that morning with his shirt rumpled from Steve's hands, a flush on his cheeks as he grins at Steve, reeling him in for a kiss at the door, all promise and temptation, and totally being a jerk about how badly Steve wants him and how right Bucky is that he needs to actually leave for work.

 

They should have consider marriage _ages and ages ago_.

 

There isn't much to change, in the end.  He has to show a copy of his marriage certificate and check a few boxes, initial in a few places.  Bucky is already listed as the beneficiary for Steve's life insurance because Steve hasn't had anyone but Bucky in the years since his mother died.

 

It doesn't occur to Steve until later that this might be premature, when he's telling Bucky about it over supper, Bucky's sex flushed cheeks and damp unruly hair distracting in ways that make food seem unimportant, and he realizes that Bucky might have other ways to react that aren't easy acceptance.  He realizes that up to this point their decision felt like another phase in the lives of Steve and Bucky, and he's just fallen in with it like it was the next obvious step for both of them.

 

Bucky quirks an eyebrow and grins at him.  "Aww," he says, shoving a forkful of salad into his mouth.  "I didn't get you anything.  Did you update your will, too?" he asks, teasing, because somehow out of the two of them Steve had somehow fallen into being a responsible adult, in ways that sometimes felt baffling and beyond his control.

 

"Uh," Steve mutters, spearing a cherry tomato.  He suspects the back of his neck is just as red.  "It wasn't necessary.  What's mine was already yours."

 

Bucky's face does a thing, a thing like he doesn't know what to say, fond and mystified and pleased.  "What's mine was already yours, too," he mutters, staring down at his food with a smile on his lips.  He looks up at Steve, gaze hesitant but shining, as though out of all the things he's ever said to Steve, it's this one that reveals his heart.

 

And maybe it does.  Bucky doesn't have many belongings, but he always would prioritize Steve over all of them.  He always had.

 

“I love you,” Bucky tells him, sex hair and smiles and body leaning against Steve for the physical contact.

 

“I love you too,” Steve answers, his fingers curving around Bucky’s hipbone in an easy, casual hold.  “Inadvisably and stupidly.”

 

“Hey now! Don’t talk about the sanctity of our shotgun Vegas wedding that way.”

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, I have to cop to the fact this entire last scene is in the wrong tense, I got halfway through fixing it and then decided I didn't care because it reads better in the original form.
> 
> I'm sorry, but also NOT. Just ignore it, and for those of you who didn't notice until I pointed it out, KEEP IGNORING IT.
> 
>  [reblog it](http://relenafanel.tumblr.com/post/124298795243/not-just-married-relenafanel-summary-dont)
> 
> [tumblr](http://relenafanel.tumblr.com)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [What Happens in Vegas](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4950109) by [m0th3rw4r](https://archiveofourown.org/users/m0th3rw4r/pseuds/m0th3rw4r)




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